


The Family Way

by libbertyjibbit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Bitching, M/M, Manipulation, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-19 06:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29622075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit
Summary: After a bad heat that he can barely remember, Tim finds out some unexpected news. And then a bit more.
Relationships: Danny Stoker/Tim Stoker
Comments: 12
Kudos: 40





	The Family Way

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to MildredMost for the beta! You're the best.

Tim doesn't feel right.

He hasn't felt right in weeks - not since his last heat. Usually, they're not so bad. He feels groggy and pissed off and horny as hell for a few days, but it's easily taken care of. If he doesn't feel like finding someone to help him through it, toys are usually enough to take the edge off, even if they aren't exactly what he wants.

But the last heat had been - well. Tim hasn't had a heat that bad since he first presented, when it felt like if he didn't get something in him he'd die. Those heats always came back in flashes - skin and sound and a scent that he felt he almost knew but could never quite place.

His parents had worried, but his doctor had said that it was probably down to Tim presenting late - they'd all believed him to be a beta until he'd woken up one morning panting and covered in sweat and slick, fingers already working inside of himself - put him on a mild suppressant and that had been that. Tim still had his heats, but they were manageable.

The end.

Only not, apparently, because here he is, sitting on his sofa with his stomach churning and his head aching, trying to remember just _what_ had happened during his last heat.

There's not much there. He remembers that it had come on suddenly, too early. He'd just been arriving at work when his body had gone loose and achy, begging to be filled. Not only was it too early but it was stronger than usual, too, nearly knocking Tim to his knees with the sudden onset of need.

He remembers that Jon and Martin had both been in the office, that Martin had seen him buckle and taken two steps in his direction before his nostrils had flared and he'd gone red. "Oh, bloody hell," he'd said, and if Tim had been in his right mind he'd have laughed at the dismayed look on his face, but as it was, he could do little more than moan, the scent of alpha in his nostrils almost too much.

Martin didn't touch him. He remembers that. He’d stepped forward, reaching out, and then reeled back, hands flying up, palms out, looking both terrified and turned on. He’d kept backing away, eyes wide and fixed on Tim like he was afraid that Tim was going to fling himself at him (it was only later that Tim thought that he might have been doing it to reassure himself that he was moving in the right direction), until his back had hit the door of Jon’s office. He’d fled in there like he was being chased and hadn’t come back out.

It'd been Jon who had taken him outside, steering him with one hand on his arm and his face pinched in distaste, as though Tim was offending him by existing. Tim is thankful, even if the memory makes him cringe. As awful as watching Martin leave like that had made him feel, he knows that if he’d stayed it was more than likely that one or both of them would have been unable to keep themselves from giving in, and that would have made things at the office even more awkward than they already are. Even if a part of Tim wishes he had. Then maybe he wouldn’t be in his current predicament.

After that, his mind goes a bit hazy, memories coming in flashes rather than any coherent narrative. He knows that he got home because he remembers fumbling at the door, his hands shaking too badly to get the key in the lock. He remembers a cool hand sliding over his, not taking the keys but guiding his fingers, both of them sliding the keys home. He remembers the way that it made him shudder and press into the body behind him, rubbing his arse against them, wanting only to get inside so that he could get their clothes off and have them covering him, feel them sliding home inside him, opening him deep and sure and perfect.

He remembers heat. Remembers a hand at the back of his head, pushing his face down into the floor, and how he'd loved it. How he'd needed it. He'd wanted to be taken that way - even now he feels a rush of heat go through him at the thought, his blood warming and body shifting restlessly on the sofa - wanted to be _owned_. And he had been. Whoever he'd brought home with him had taken him exactly as he wanted – hard and brutal and consuming – over and over, and it had been so good he could barely stand it. It's the one thing that is seared into Tim's mind. That burning, senseless pleasure. He'd had woken up sore but sated in a way that he'd never before experienced. It was a deep-down satisfaction, one that felt like it went to his bones, and even then he’d known that whoever it was that had had him was the only one he’d have again. There would be no one else.

But he'd also woken up alone, and since then he's felt different. Odd. Both like he's gotten exactly what he wants and like he's missing something desperately. He's been twitchy ever since; on edge.

He'd asked Jon what happened, of course. Jon was the last person he remembers, after all. According to him, Tim had seemed to come back to his senses once outside. He'd shaken Jon off (and Tim suspects it wasn't that hard, given how little Jon had seemed to want to touch him) and said that he would find his own way home.

"Of course I didn't listen," he'd snapped when Tim had raised an eyebrow. "I'm not an idiot. Martin had already rung a cab (Jon's tone of voice plainly said that he didn't think Martin capable of thinking that far, but there was a peevish undertone that had Tim's eyebrow climbing even farther, though Jon didn't seem to notice) and I made sure you got home. No, I didn't go in with you; you didn't need a nanny. Is that all?"

That was all. After a few days the bruises and marks had faded, Jon had stopped scowling at him and Martin had stopped blushing whenever he came into the room, and he'd thought that that was the end of it. Even if he still ached for something he couldn't name, things would get back to normal.

Except they haven't. Not really. Because Tim feels achy, feels tired and sick and oddly bereft, and until this morning he didn't know why.

He cracks an eye open and checks to see if the little stick is still there. It is. It hasn't magically moved since he dropped it in shock and stumbled over to sit on the sofa. He supposes the two little lines on the indicator haven't magically turned into one, either.

He's pregnant.

A hysterical laugh rises up in his chest, and he tamps it down with willpower alone. He's up the duff with no clue who did it to him, and if he starts laughing now he might not stop.

He doesn't want a baby. He never has. It's why he's always faithfully taken his suppressants - aside from easier and fewer heats, they also act as birth control. The thought of what’s inside him makes him feel lightheaded and short of breath, and yet at the same time there’s a fierce joy he doesn’t understand. He doesn’t want this, never did, but somewhere inside he’s glad, and that feeling scares him more than the pregnancy itself.

His mobile rings. Tim doesn't move. He knows it's Danny. Again. He's been ringing all morning; Tim really should pick up. He doesn't. It doesn't matter; Danny is supposed to stay with him for a while as he's between jobs and he has a key. Tim picking up his mobile won't make him less likely to rush over; Danny knows him better than anyone and his voice will give him away.

He doesn't know how long he sits there staring. A while. The sound of the key in the lock and the door opening doesn't even rouse him. It isn't until Danny is kneeling in front of him, eyes wide and voice practically dripping with worry as he asks what's wrong that Tim moves.

Tim slumps forward like a puppet whose strings have been cut, falling into his brother. Danny's arms come around him immediately and Tim buries his face in his neck, looking for comfort.

"I-" he starts, then stops, stiffening. Because Danny doesn't smell like himself. Doesn't smell like comfort, like his beta brother. He smells like _alpha_.

He also smells familiar. Too familiar. Tim pulls away, shaking his head. "You knew," he says, and his voice is shaking but he hardly cares. He feels betrayed. All this time, and Danny was - Danny knew who had - his fists curl. "Who is it?"

Danny frowns. "Who what?" he asks. The concerned look hasn't faded from his face; if anything it only grows sharper. But Tim hardly trusts it now.

"Don't," he says. "There was someone - ever since I was - and you knew. You knew who it was and you just -"

"Oh," Danny says, and incredibly, he's smiling. "That."

"Yes, that," Tim snaps, and shoves Danny away from him. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why would you let them -"

Danny reaches out and yanks him forward. He pulls him close and buries his nose in Tim's neck, scenting him.

Tim wants to struggle, he knows he does, but that stupid fucking smell all over his brother makes him melt instead. He sinks into him and inhales deeply. _Mine_ he thinks, but it doesn't feel so much like a thought as a bone deep certainty. Whoever’s scent is all over Danny belongs to Tim; they’re Tim's as surely as Tim is theirs. It's been that way for ages. He’s never had a choice, not really. The thought should scare him, he thinks, but instead he inhales deeply and tilts his head, letting Danny run his nose along it as a small shiver goes through him.

"You're pregnant," Danny says against his neck, and he sounds delighted. "I'd thought maybe - but it's been years and you'd been on those damn things so long and the whole thing was a long shot to begin with -"

Tim's head feels foggy; Danny is stroking up and down his back and it feels wonderful, and he smells so good that it takes a minute for what he's said to register. When it does a bright spark of something shoots through him, cutting through the fog.

"Danny," he says, and oh, his voice is shaking because it can't be what he thinks, can't be what it sounds like Danny is saying. "What are you talking about?"

"You weren't presenting. I knew you were mine, you had to be, but you weren't - I had to do something."

"But you - you're a -"

Danny shakes his head. "I'm not," he says. "But I had to hide it. If mum and dad knew, they'd separate us. And I was the only thing that helped you through your heats. Just having me there calmed you down. Everyone said so. And you were so perfect, gave yourself to me so well…but then you were put on those _things_."

Danny’s voice is dark and angry, and his arms are tight around Tim, so tight that it almost hurts. He should want to get away but he doesn’t. He feels numb, disconnected, even as his body presses itself tighter against Danny. Even as it calms under his touch.

"I couldn't do anything then, not for a long time. They would have figured it out. But I knew that it would only be a matter of time. You just had to get away from them, from everyone who would keep you from me. I could wait. And then it was finally time. It was so easy to mess with your pills, you know. So easy to induce a heat. You'd been waiting for me too, hadn't you? You just didn’t know it." He leans back and cups Tim's face in his hands, looking at him with a reverence that Tim doesn't want to enjoy. He does anyway. "You were ready, too. I could tell. You were so desperate. So eager to keep me here, staying with you. So I replaced your pills. Induced a heat. And you were so perfect. You wanted me so badly. Do you remember how you begged me? How much you wanted me inside you?"

Tim shakes his head, but something in the back of his memory shifts and he hears his own voice pleading, saying "yes, Danny, please," and he swallows hard, face growing hot. Danny's smile widens.

"You do. I knew you would. And it worked just like I wanted, like we both wanted. You're going to have my child and no one will be able to keep us apart." He strokes Tim's cheeks with his thumbs, and Tim shudders and closes his eyes, mouth parting and willingly receiving the kiss that Danny bestows on him. "You're mine."

Tim moans, body thrilling at the possessive tone. He wraps his arms around Danny and pulls him close, closer. “Yours,” he says, the word muffled against Danny’s lips. Part of him wants to resist, to fight, but it’s eclipsed by the scent of alpha, _his_ alpha, and Tim knows he can’t. Whatever he was before Danny sunk his hooks in him, Tim belongs to him now; has belonged to him for longer than he even knows.

There is no other choice. There hasn’t been for a long time, if there ever was. Deep down, where his darkest secrets live, Tim knows he doesn’t even want one.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed, please consider letting me know. :)


End file.
